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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28441530">it's not christmas till somebody cries</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetheshark/pseuds/leetheshark'>leetheshark</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Christmas, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Food, Humor, M/M, References to Brain Trauma, Sharing a Bed, Sloppy Drunk Roman Sionis, emetophobia warning, toxic parents</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:21:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,115</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28441530</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetheshark/pseuds/leetheshark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone on Christmas? Hate your parents? Read on… - m4m (Gotham)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>it's not christmas till somebody cries</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>inspired by <a href="https://www.dailydot.com/wp-content/uploads/5fa/15/Screen_Shot_2014-11-21_at_2.47.01_PM.png">this post.</a> this was originally going to be a thanksgiving fic, but i couldn’t finish it on time because my whole family got COVID (we’re all okay now!)</p>
<p>so now it’s a christmas fic and it’s still a little late, but you’ll forgive me, right?</p>
<p>i recommend reading this with the skin because, well, it took forever and i'm proud of it. hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roman’s spent the past week bitching to everyone he knows about having to go home for Christmas. That isn’t many people, because he can’t seem to keep friends for long.</p>
<p>If you ask Roman, he’s criminally underappreciated.</p>
<p>The friends that stick around are usually the ones Roman hooks up with (he’s willing to recognize that he’s more talented in certain areas than others), except for Bruce Wayne, who Roman never liked in the first place and can’t seem to get rid of.</p>
<p>Despite everything Roman hates about him, Bruce’s friendship comes in handy sometimes. It was Bruce who suggested—after unexpectedly running into Roman outside a Dunkin’ Donuts and being treated to an impromptu monologue about everything that’s currently wrong with Roman’s life—that Roman check out Craigslist for ideas.</p>
<p>Now, Roman’s in bed in his downtown Gotham City apartment, with his laptop and Dunkin’ Donuts latte, scrolling through pages upon pages of text that hurt his head. Because of medical problems he had as a child—which he doesn’t want to get into right now, thank you very much—he has trouble looking at screens for long periods of time. He pops a couple Aspirin with his latte and keeps going.</p>
<p>All he really wants to do is ruin his parents’ Christmas. He can do it on his own—he’s done it before—but it gets tiring carrying that responsibility on his shoulders.</p>
<p>He isn’t sure what he’s looking for, until he sees it:</p>
<p class="PostLink">☆ 12/24-12/25 <span class="PostLinkBlue">Alone on Christmas? Hate your parents? Read on… - m4m</span> <span class="PostLinkLoc">(Gotham)</span></p>
<p>Roman clicks on the ad.</p>
<p>The picture accompanying it is a grimy bathroom mirror selfie of a shirtless man with scars covering his face and chest, the worst bleach job Roman’s ever seen (and he’s part of the Gotham City gay scene, so that’s <i>really</i> saying something), and a dark beard that actually makes him look kind of… attractive.</p>
<p><span class="PostTitle">Alone on Christmas? Hate your parents? Read on… - m4m</span> <span class="PostTitleLoc">(Gotham)</span></p>
<p class="PostBody">It’s Christmas. Want to skip that long, insulting conversation about why you’re still single? About how your parents really want more grandchildren? Well look no further!</p>
<p class="PostBody">I’m 24 years old and I just got out of Arkham for killing 12 people. I can play anywhere between the ages of 18 and 30 depending on if I shave. I have a scar on my body for every person I’ve killed and I’m willing to show them all.</p>
<p class="PostBody">If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Christmas, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you, to piss off your family, I’m game.</p>
<p class="PostBody">If you’d like me to kill your family while you watch, I’m also game.</p>
<p></p><li class="doNOTcontact">do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers</li><br/><p>That last part actually sounds kind of tempting. Roman sends him an email.</p>
<p class="Email"><b>From:</b> rbsionis@hotmail.com</p>
<p class="Email"><b>Subj:</b> Alone on Christmas? Hate your parents? Read on… - m4m (Gotham)</p>
<p class="Email"><b>To:</b> zsasz@yahoo.com</p>
<p class="EmailBody">Hey. Still available on Christmas?</p>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p class="Email"><b>From:</b> zsasz@yahoo.com</p>
<p class="Email"><b>Subj:</b> Re: Alone on Christmas? Hate your parents? Read on… - m4m (Gotham)</p>
<p class="Email"><b>To:</b> rbsionis@hotmail.com</p>
<p class="EmailBody">Sure. Which do you want?</p>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p class="Email"><b>From:</b> rbsionis@hotmail.com</p>
<p class="Email"><b>Subj:</b> Re: Alone on Christmas? Hate your parents? Read on… - m4m (Gotham)</p>
<p class="Email"><b>To:</b> zsasz@yahoo.com</p>
<p class="EmailBody">Do I have to decide right now?</p>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p class="Email"><b>From:</b> zsasz@yahoo.com</p>
<p class="Email"><b>Subj:</b> Re: Alone on Christmas? Hate your parents? Read on… - m4m (Gotham)</p>
<p class="Email"><b>To:</b> rbsionis@hotmail.com</p>
<p class="EmailBody">No. What’s your name?</p>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p class="Email"><b>From:</b> rbsionis@hotmail.com</p>
<p class="Email"><b>Subj:</b> Re: Alone on Christmas? Hate your parents? Read on… - m4m (Gotham)</p>
<p class="Email"><b>To:</b> zsasz@yahoo.com</p>
<p class="EmailBody">Roman.</p>
<p><br/>
</p>
<p class="Email"><b>From:</b> zsasz@yahoo.com</p>
<p class="Email"><b>Subj:</b> Re: Alone on Christmas? Hate your parents? Read on… - m4m (Gotham)</p>
<p class="Email"><b>To:</b> rbsionis@hotmail.com</p>
<p class="EmailBody">You can call me Zsasz. Here’s my number: ███-███-████</p>
<p><br/>
</p><hr/>
<p><br/>
Outside the Sionis mansion, in the suburbs of Gotham City, it’s so cold Roman can’t feel his fingers. He should have brought his new monogrammed gloves. The air bites at his face, and he’ll be pissed if his skin is dry later. At least he brought his heavy-duty moisturizer in his overnight bag.</p>
<p>(It’s Christmas Eve. Roman’s parents expect him to stay until morning, when they’ll write him a Christmas check just big enough to keep him from complaining, like they do every year. He’ll sleep in his childhood bed, and he fully intends to make Zsasz sleep on the floor.)</p>
<p>Roman took a limo here, because his childhood seizures have discouraged him from ever learning to drive, and besides, he has people for that sort of thing. Zsasz—whose first name Roman’s learned since first texting him is Victor—pulls up in a 1992 Toyota Camry and climbs out wearing a forest-green sweater with red sleeves and a pattern of two reindeer having sex.</p>
<p>“Hah!” Roman says. “Nice sweater!”</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Victor walks across the lawn toward Roman, raking his eyes over Roman’s body. “You look nice.”</p>
<p>Something in Victor’s voice makes the compliment sound creepy. Like Victor wants to kill Roman and wear his skin. Roman mostly finds it intriguing.</p>
<p>“I know,” he says. With the amount of effort he put into his outfit—a slim-cut black suit with a maroon button-down and his second most expensive pair of shoes, under a gray wool peacoat for the cold—he fucking better look nice. “Come on.”</p>
<p>Roman reaches for Victor’s hand, and Victor obliges. Even though Roman’s hands are numb from the cold, he can still feel one or two long scars crossing Victor’s palm. He leads Victor up the salted sidewalk and presses the doorbell.</p>
<p>The house and lawn are strung-up with multicolored Christmas lights, less because Roman’s parents are festive, and more because they take every opportunity to one-up their neighbors. It’s the kind of scene that people from other neighborhoods come here to gawk at. Victor looks raptly around the lawn while they wait at the door.</p>
<p>“You’ve never seen Christmas lights before?” Roman asks.</p>
<p>Victor turns to him with a crooked smile. “Never met anyone who did stupid shit like this to their house.”</p>
<p>"Hah!"</p>
<p>The door swings open. Roman’s father is standing there, with Roman’s mother behind him and peeking over his shoulder.</p>
<p>(When it comes to dealing with Roman, teaming up is best.)</p>
<p>Roman shoves Victor in front of him to show off his prize. “Mother, Father. I’d like you to meet Victor Zsasz, my fiancé.”</p>
<p>Victor grins crookedly. “Hi.”</p>
<p>Roman can practically see the cogs turning in his father’s head as he examines his new guest: the uneven haircut, the lewd sweater, the raccoon-like dark circles under his eyes. He exchanges an apprehensive look with his wife, and then says, “Is this a joke?”</p>
<p>“Why would it be a joke?” Roman shrieks, squeezing a few tears out of his eyes for good measure.</p>
<p>Roman’s father plasters a smile on his face. “I’m Richard.” He holds out a hand, which Victor ignores. “This is my wife, Eileen.”</p>
<p>“It’s nice to meet you, Victor,” says Eileen.</p>
<p>“Call me Zsasz.”</p>
<p>Eileen fails to suppress a shudder. “Zsasz.”</p>
<p>“Let’s go inside!” Roman says. “I’ve been dying to introduce Zsasz to everyone. Don’t you think Grandma Mary will love him?”</p>
<p>Roman doesn’t let go of Victor’s hand. It’s only to keep up the ruse, but Roman can’t deny that it’s comforting. He hates being home. He leads Victor through the too-big house and into the dining room where Roman grew up swallowing his tears during dinner parties. It hasn’t changed since then. It still has the same wood furniture, the same pristine white tablecloth, the same people with two exceptions.</p>
<p>Three of Roman’s grandparents remain of the four he grew up with. They sit at the same spots they always have, no empty space left for Roman’s father’s late mother, looking ancient and coming alive only when they’re expected to, like those coin-operated carnival fortune tellers.</p>
<p>Roman hates old people.</p>
<p>(Even though he’s never actually seen a carnival fortune teller, because carnivals are gross.)</p>
<p>The other exception is Roman’s eighteen year old cousin Tiffany, who was born when he was six. He thinks she’s a bitch. It’s mutual. She sits with her parents, Eileen’s sister Janet and her husband Tom. Roman despises all of them, for reasons ranging from fair to nonexistent.</p>
<p>Roman and Victor take their seats across from Tiffany and her parents. Everyone says hello to Victor like it pains them—all except for Tiffany, who says nothing to him, but appraises him through her thick-rimmed glasses like a critic.</p>
<p>Roman frowns. <i>What the fuck is she looking at?</i></p>
<p>The last guest at the Sionis family Christmas dinner is Richard and Eileen’s butler David, who looks just as old now as he did when Roman was a child. If you ask Roman, he must be a hundred and fifty. Roman assumes his parents pay David at least double to forego Christmas with his own family, if he even has one. He can’t think of any other reason someone would willingly spend Christmas here.</p>
<p>“Mr. Zsasz,” Eileen says, as David brings out two bottles of wine. “Red or white?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no thanks,” Victor says. “I don’t drink.”</p>
<p>“Well, that’s one quality I hope rubs off on Roman.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Victor grins. “I prefer hard drugs.”</p>
<p>Eileen gives Victor a tight-lipped smile. “David, a glass of water for Mr. Zsasz.”</p>
<p>While the butler pours water into Victor’s wine glass, Victor leans in close without asking to whisper in Roman’s ear.</p>
<p>“Let me know if you change your mind,” he says. “About that other thing.”</p>
<p>Roman looks down into Victor’s lap to see Victor brandishing a pocketknife. Somehow, it’s even more exciting than it would be if he whipped out something else. Roman licks his lips, then looks back up at Victor’s face. They share a giggle as Victor closes his knife and puts it back in his pocket.</p>
<p>“So, Mr. Zsasz,” Richard interrupts. “What do you do?”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Victor says, “I kill people.”</p>
<p>Eileen forces a smile. “Hah. That’s funny.”</p>
<p>“No, I’m serious. I just got out of Arkham, like, a week ago. You ever been?”</p>
<p>“I… can’t say I have.”</p>
<p>“Nice people.”</p>
<p>Roman grins. “Isn’t he great? We’re getting married in Atlantic City.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure that will be nice,” Eileen says.</p>
<p>“Thanks. You’re not invited.”</p>
<p>Janet taps her glass with her fork to get Roman’s attention. It’s a habit that Roman has always found really fucking annoying. “Roman, how long have you two been together?”</p>
<p>Roman looks at Victor, then pulls a number out of the air. “Three months,” he says.</p>
<p>“We met online,” Victor adds, “when I was in Arkham.”</p>
<p>“We’re getting married so soon because we’re madly in love. Not to mention, if my darling man gets arrested again, I want to be able to petition for conjugal visits.” Roman gazes at Victor with a smile that he hopes looks loving. “Isn’t that right, baby?”</p>
<p>“That’s right, boss,” Victor says. His doe-eyed look sends a shiver up Roman’s spine.</p>
<p>Why don’t Roman’s real boyfriends ever look at him like that?</p>
<p>Throughout appetizers, Victor regales Roman’s family of stories from his time at Arkham. When David sets down the Christmas ham, Victor swipes the knife off of the dish and drags his tongue across it. It’s weirdly arousing. Victor and Roman spend most of dinner feeding each other ham and making barely-disguised innuendos about what they intend to do in Roman’s childhood bed later. If Roman finds himself wishing it were real, well, he can blame the wine.</p>
<p>The disapproving looks from his parents don’t hurt as much when Roman’s acting out on purpose. He learned that in his teens, sometime between realizing his parents would always be disappointed about the things they thought were wrong with him—that he struggled in school, that he cried often, that he was gay and didn’t feel the need to hide it—and realizing his parents would always be disappointed in him, no matter what. It was one of the defining moments of his life. He went from being a failure to being a distinguished troublemaker.</p>
<p>It doesn’t mean the looks don’t hurt. The way his parents whisper about him when they think he’s not listening hurts, too. He’s been building up an armor against it for years. It helps to have a friend for once.</p>
<p>“Hey Roman,” Tiffany whispers across the table, as David starts to clear away the dinner plates and bring out the desserts and eggnog. “Sorry your boyfriend’s so ugly.”</p>
<p>“Shut the fuck up, Tiffany,” Roman says. “Your nose ring makes you look like an animal.”</p>
<p>“Your boyfriend’s an animal.”</p>
<p>“He’s my fiancé.”</p>
<p>“You’re gonna get divorced after a month,” Tiffany says. “You’re gonna cheat on him with some old guy for his money because you only care about yourself.”</p>
<p>“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do,” Roman hisses. “I’m gonna peel your little slut face off.”</p>
<p>“That’s <i>enough,”</i> Tiffany’s mother says.</p>
<p>Roman pouts like a child and downs the rest of his wine. He mutters under his breath, “Fucking bitches.”</p>
<p>“We have an open relationship,” Victor announces. “Roman can fuck whoever he wants.”</p>
<p>“Mr. Zsasz,” Eileen says, “that is <i>not</i> appropria—”</p>
<p>“He doesn’t like old guys, but I do.”</p>
<p>“Ew,” Tiffany says.</p>
<p>Victor peers at Roman’s father. “Hey, Richie.”</p>
<p>“Are you talking to me? My name is Richard.”</p>
<p>“You’re kinda cute. Your dick as big as your son’s?”</p>
<p>Richard’s face goes red. The second before he responds is the most exciting moment of Roman’s life.</p>
<p>“Get out of my house,” Richard says.</p>
<p>“Come on! He’s kidding. Aren’t you, baby?” Roman slings an arm around Victor’s shoulders. Victor turns to him with a smile, which Roman returns, and before he knows it he’s leaning in and…</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>Okay.</p>
<p>Victor’s lips are softer than Roman thought they would be, even though Victor’s beard feels like sandpaper. Roman pulls away and tries not to show his nerves. “Dad, you can’t kick my <i>fiancé</i> out. What would the neighbors say?”</p>
<p>Richard sighs. “You’re on thin ice, Mr. Zsasz.”</p>
<p>Victor grins, then blows a kiss at Grandma Mary, who’s sitting next to her husband. “What about you? You single?”</p>
<p>Miraculously, dinner moves on. If Roman begrudges his mother one thing, it’s that she knows how to dominate a conversation. She does her best not to let Victor speak again, so instead, Victor eats more than his fair share of dessert, moaning around his fork in a way that can’t be genuine, and conspicuously feels up Roman’s thigh under the table.</p>
<p>It’s just for the ruse.</p>
<p>Roman still has to avoid standing up.</p>
<p>The more he drinks, the less of a problem it becomes. He’s five and a half spiked eggnogs in—plus the four glasses of wine he had with dinner—when he notices his vision starting to blur. It’s a shame, because Victor’s pulling up his sweater and undershirt and showing off his scars, and Roman would <i>really</i> like to see them. Roman rests his head on his hand and tries to focus on Victor, but it doesn’t work.</p>
<p>Time passes—Roman can't tell how much—and he realizes he has to use the bathroom. He stands up and almost falls over. Victor catches him by the forearm. “You good, boss?”</p>
<p>“Mhmmmm. Thank you, baby.”</p>
<p>Roman stumbles to the bathroom with his hand on the hallway molding for balance. He’s found his way to this bathroom drunk a million times. He’s practically a pro.</p>
<p>Head swimming pleasantly, Roman finishes what he came here for and starts to head back to the dining room. When he passes the kitchen, the sound of his parents arguing breaks through his haze. Roman hides just beyond the doorway and eavesdrops.</p>
<p>“He’s trying to ruin our lives, Eileen!”</p>
<p>“Shh! It’s not his fault.”</p>
<p>“If he goes through with this… this ‘marriage’... how can we ever show our faces again? It’s bad enough that he’s… you know… but <i>that?”</i></p>
<p>“We don’t have to talk about this right now!”</p>
<p>“We did everything right, and all because of that damned doctor… I mean, look at him! Don’t you ever wish he hadn’t made it out of that hospital room?”</p>
<p>“Of course I do. But don’t <i>say it!”</i><br/>
</p><hr/>
<p><br/>
It’s been fifteen minutes since Roman left for the bathroom, and Victor is getting antsy. Roman can’t just leave him alone with these people. Victor hasn’t been in a crowd this big without killing anyone in years, apart from when he was in Arkham and wasn’t allowed to have weapons. He has his own knives, sure, but the dessert knives are looking more and more appealing by the minute.</p>
<p>Abruptly, Victor gets up, letting his chair scrape loudly against the floor. He goes to look for Roman in the bathroom and almost gets lost in the long and cavernous hallway. When he finds the bathroom, it’s empty.</p>
<p>Okay.</p>
<p>Plan B.</p>
<p>Victor walks back into the dining room and barks over the conversation, “Where’s Roman’s bedroom?”</p>
<p>Eileen scowls. “Upstairs, make a right, third door on the left.”</p>
<p>Victor takes Roman’s half-finished eggnog as a peace offering, just in case, and stalks across the foyer and up the slippery wooden stairs. The door in question is shut, so Victor knocks.</p>
<p>“What?” Roman shrieks from inside.</p>
<p>Victor opens the door. Roman’s sitting in bed in a nest of pillows, with an old teddy bear clutched to his chest. He throws it across the room as hastily wipes the tears off his cheeks.</p>
<p>“You alright, boss?” Victor asks.</p>
<p>“Excuse me? Do I look fucking alright?”</p>
<p>“You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”</p>
<p>“Why should I?”</p>
<p>Victor closes the door behind him, then puts Roman’s eggnog on the nightstand and sits at the edge of the bed to unlace his boots. “’Cause I’m the only one here who cares.” He pulls his socked feet up onto the bed and folds his legs in front of him. “No one else even noticed you were gone.”</p>
<p>“You care?” Roman squeaks. He wipes new tears from his eyes. “About me?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>Victor shrugs. He really doesn’t know. It’s just that, ever since he first saw Roman’s face a couple hours ago, he’s felt a pull toward him that just keeps getting stronger. Like he’s meant to be by Roman’s side.</p>
<p>Roman pulls his knees up to his chest, buries his head in his arms, and mumbles something Victor can’t make out. Victor takes a risk and puts his hand on Roman’s back. “What’s that, boss?”</p>
<p>“My parents said they wished I was dead,” Roman sobs.</p>
<p>“I’m sure they didn’t mean it.”</p>
<p>“Fuck off.”</p>
<p>Roman hasn’t objected to Victor touching him yet, so Victor rubs his back in circles. “You want the rest of your eggnog?”</p>
<p>“No. I want you to go downstairs and kill my parents.”</p>
<p>“You sure?”</p>
<p>“Of course I’m fucking sure.”</p>
<p>“’Cause you’re pretty drunk, and I don’t want you to be mad at me later.”</p>
<p>“Fuck off,” Roman hisses again. “You’re fucking useless. I hate you.”</p>
<p>“Ask me to kill ‘em again in the morning. I’ll do it.”</p>
<p>Roman sniffles. “Promise?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Promise.”</p>
<p>Roman climbs into Victor’s lap and pushes him down onto the bed with all his weight. “Be my fiancé for real,” he mumbles into Victor’s chest.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Victor says, because Roman probably won’t remember it. Even if he does, Victor wouldn’t mind.</p>
<p>“Kill people for me.”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Roman tucks his face into the crook of Victor’s neck and nuzzles there. “We should have sex.”</p>
<p>“You’re still drunk.”</p>
<p>“Can we do it in the morning?”</p>
<p>“If you still want to, sure.”</p>
<p>“Mmm.” Roman starts to press lazy kisses against Victor’s neck. If Roman just wants to kiss him, Victor guesses that’s fine. He just isn’t expecting it when Roman bites.</p>
<p>“Hey! What the fuck?”</p>
<p>“I <i>like</i> you.”</p>
<p>“I know. I like you too, boss. You wanna get some sleep?”</p>
<p>“Mhmm.”</p>
<p>Step one is probably getting Roman undressed. Victor pushes Roman’s suit jacket off his shoulders, and apparently it’s enough to make Roman forget they’re not going to have sex. He climbs to his knees, pushes up Victor’s sweater, and tries to plant a sloppy kiss to Victor’s lips. It lands an inch away from Victor’s mouth instead.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Victor says. “Hey. That’s not what’s happening right now.”</p>
<p>“’Kay.” Roman lets Victor finish wrestling off his jacket, then goes limp while Victor manhandles him down into bed. “Zsaszzzzz,” he whines, gazing up at Victor with bleary wet eyes. “I’m gonna throw up.”</p>
<p>“Okay, I got you. You gotta tell me where the bathroom is, okay?”</p>
<p>It turns out that Roman’s bedroom has an attached bathroom, because of course it does. Victor holds Roman’s hair out of his face while he vomits, then sits with him on the bathroom floor until he feels well enough to go back to bed.</p>
<p>Victor wasn’t expecting to end his Christmas Eve as a drunk person’s caretaker, but there’s something nice about feeling needed. It’s different. Most people are afraid of Victor, but Roman trusts him. (Either that, or he’s arrogant enough to assume Victor won’t kill him. Victor won’t, but still.) Victor brings Roman his overnight bag and helps him into silk pajamas, then rubs Roman’s back while he cries himself to sleep.</p>
<p>Victor considers sleeping on the floor out of courtesy, but decides, fuck it. He climbs under the covers and presses his face against Roman’s broad back, between his shoulder blades, mumbling, “I’ll take care of you.”</p>
<p>When Victor gets up to pee in the middle of the night and finds Roman’s tossed-aside teddy bear on the floor, he brings it back to bed and tucks it securely into Roman’s arms.<br/>
</p><hr/>
<p><br/>
Victor’s been awake for twenty minutes when Roman stirs, rolls onto his back, and groans, “Oh, fuck.”</p>
<p>“Morning,” Victor says.</p>
<p>“Did we have sex last night?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Why not?”</p>
<p>“You were drunk.”</p>
<p>“I can see that.” Roman starts to sit up, then decides better of it. He flops right back down and shuts his eyes. “What time is it?”</p>
<p>Victor checks the clock on the nightstand right behind Roman. “Little after nine.”</p>
<p>“Oh, good. David’s serving breakfast. Bring me something.”</p>
<p>“What do you want?”</p>
<p>Roman creases his forehead in thought, then groans like the effort hurts. “I don’t care. Surprise me.”</p>
<p>Victor doesn’t bother to get dressed before going downstairs. He greets Roman’s parents in his boxers and undershirt (if you call ignoring them and going straight for the breakfast spread ‘greeting’).</p>
<p>“Where’s Roman?” Richard asks.</p>
<p>“Hungover.”</p>
<p>“Is he alright?”</p>
<p>“Fuck you.”</p>
<p>Victor doesn’t know what Roman likes, so he grabs a little of everything. He piles a plate high with bacon, sausage, a Belgian waffle, pain au chocolat, and some kind of fruit pastry. It’s probably strawberry or raspberry. He pours a glass of orange juice, because even though he doesn’t drink, he’s heard that vitamin C is good for hangovers, and takes everything upstairs.</p>
<p>Roman’s still lying in bed with his eyes closed. The sound of Victor setting the plate and glass on the nightstand rouses his attention. “Give me that.”</p>
<p>Victor obeys. Roman moves the sheets out of the way and sets the plate down in the center of the bed. They share it in silence, Victor sitting cross-legged and Roman lying on his side. After a while, Victor asks, “You remember last night?”</p>
<p>“Not really. I remember you kissing me at dinner.”</p>
<p>“Weird. I remember you kissing me.”</p>
<p>Roman laughs, then brings a hand to his temple. “Ow. Fuck.”</p>
<p>“Sorry.” Victor grins crookedly. “That’s all you remember?”</p>
<p>“Nothing else important. Why, did something happen?”</p>
<p>“You were pretty upset.” Victor grabs a sausage link and takes a bite. “You told me your parents said they wished you were dead. You asked me to kill them.”</p>
<p>Roman shoots upright. “What? Did you?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Roman puts a hand to his chest, breathing hard. “Good. They wouldn’t say that.”</p>
<p>Victor wouldn’t find it that hard to believe. Don’t get him wrong, he would love to kill Roman’s parents, but what he wants more, right now, is to keep Roman happy.</p>
<p>“...Would they?”</p>
<p>“Nah. You probably heard ‘em wrong. You were pretty messed up.”</p>
<p>Chewing slowly on a pastry, Roman retreats into his head. His blue-green eyes go blank. Victor stares at him.</p>
<p>After a minute, Roman returns and says, "You're right." He licks the jam and crumbs off his lips, then lies back down in bed, resting his head on two folded hands. "You should drive me home."</p>
<p>"Okay," Victor says.</p>
<p>"I don't want to be alone. Stay with me."</p>
<p>Victor's heart beats faster. "For how long?"</p>
<p>"We can figure that out later."</p>
<p>"Okay."</p>
<p>"Good." Roman smiles, showing nearly-perfect teeth, then scrunches up his face. "Ugh. Get me an Aspirin. Bathroom cabinet."</p>
<p>Victor's never been one to take orders, but well. Things change.</p>
<p>"Sure thing, boss."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>beta'd by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacketarearmpants">jacket</a> 💙</p></blockquote></div></div>
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